


Into Thin Air

by terminallybored



Series: Children of the Nemeton [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And People Actually Care, BAMF Stiles, Cryptid Encounters, Danny is Missing, Horror, M/M, Moderate Creep Factor, Protective Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 13:32:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12532636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terminallybored/pseuds/terminallybored
Summary: Danny has gone missing, and the only clue left behind is a distorted video that suggests something Bad is afoot. Stiles has gone into the woods in the dead of night for far lesser reasons, but Derek still hasn't figured out how this became his problem.





	Into Thin Air

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Eternal Sterek Secret Santa gift exchange in 2016, for FearFrost1211 on Tumblr. This was written with the prompts canon-divergent, Protective!Derek, and BAMF!Stiles. 
> 
> Seemed right to post it in time for Halloween.

The first clue that something is wrong is that the call comes in at 2 in the morning. Stiles is having a perfectly normal and not-at-all-sexually-confusing dream about Harrison Ford filling in for Coach Finstock during pool week. Stiles is going to be mopey over the loss of that one for a while.

Stiles fumbles blindly for his phone in the dark when it vibrates under his pillow. The screen lights up and casts blue shadows on the wall while it plays a bland, chipper default ringtone. His sleep-logged brain doesn't wonder who's calling, and he’s absolutely not going to fry his retinas squinting at a backlit LCD screen when he’s been in the dark for several hours. Stiles does have some survival instincts, no matter what Derek says.

“Hnng?” As 2 am greetings go, that’s a pretty solid one, really.

“Hello.” The voice is female, soft and pleasant, and Stiles is halfway to very much awake before she continues in a mechanical monotone. “You have received a collect call from… ‘Get the fuck on Skype, loser.’” Jackson’s voice cuts in on the line, rushed and yet determined to fit that insult in. If Jackson weren’t an awful person, Stiles might almost admire that. “Would you like to accept the charges?” the female voice asks.

The second clue that something is wrong is that the call is from Jackson.

Stiles hangs up and squints at his phone in the dark, debating just using the Skype app on his phone, until he’s unceremoniously pushed out of the bed. “You’re too noisy.” Derek’s growl comes from somewhere in the pillow as Stiles glares back at him.

“Didn’t bother you last night.” Stiles gets no response to his classic wit, so he sighs and hauls himself up and leaves Derek in peace while he opens his laptop. He does have the foresight to acquire his boxers from the floor, and some manner of shirt. It might be Derek’s, but it’s not like Jackson pays attention to details. Or anything that’s not about Jackson.

He winces as the light of his computer assaults his poor eyes, so foolish as to think they could safely dilate in a dark room. He does remember to at least face his laptop camera away from the bed and to turn down the speakers before connecting to Skype.

It takes less than a minute for Jackson to call.

Jackson is in a sunny apartment with the windows open, and Stiles’ brain is having trouble with that until it clicks that yes, Jackson is an ocean away in London. Jackson is 8 hours ahead and sitting pretty at a reasonable 10 am. He’s also shirtless, probably because the universe hates Stiles and wants him to be jealous.

“What the hell, man?” Stiles leans back in his chair and scrubs at his eyes. “Do you even know what time it is?”

“Ask me if I care.” Jackson doesn’t look up at the camera, his attention fixed on another part of the screen as he taps at his keyboard. Stiles is almost lulled back to sleep by the rhythmic clicking.

“You didn’t just wake me up to watch you type, did you?” Stiles shouldn’t have to clarify these things. He shouldn't. But it’s Jackson, and he seems inclined to ignore Stiles after dragging him out of bed. So Stiles does, indeed, have to clarify.

“Have you seen Danny?”

Stiles blinks and opens his mouth to say that duh, of course he has. He saw Danny in 2nd period just earlier… no. Visions swim up, of an empty chair in the row in front of Stiles, and an unusually clear view of the board. The day before, when Coach called Greenberg every name in the ‘Not Bad Enough to Get Fired’ book for his shitty goalkeeping, and Greenberg’s feeble protest that he didn’t usually play goalie… that happened too. Then there was a fleeting notice that his lab partner was out last Friday, but that thought never really took root because it turned into a movie day due to lack of fucks given by the cogs in an overworked education system. So… no.

“Not for a few days, I guess. Why?”

“Is anyone fucking looking for him?”

“I don’t think so.” Stiles is pretty sure about that, actually. If Danny were missing, his dad would have been all over him for information and to keep an eye on him at all times if teenagers were vanishing. Again. “Is he missing?”

Jackson pauses, finally, and looks up at him with that patented Jackson look that says that Stiles is too stupid to live. “I didn’t call you because I wanted to see your face, Stilinski. I just sent you a video file. Give it to your dad and tell him to start doing his job.”

Stiles bristles at that. “Okay, take it easy.” He pulls up the email that pings into his Inbox. “Hang on.

**~~~**

The video crackles on the screen. Danny is sitting at his computer in a white t-shirt, looking into the camera. His freakishly organized room is behind him. “Okay, are you recording?”

“Yeah.” Jackson is in the lower right corner of the screen, looking bored.

“Are you sure?”

“I know which button is Record, Danny. Get to the point.”

Danny makes a face at the camera. “Don’t be a dick, Jax. I just want to make sure you get this on camera.”

“I told you before to leave this shit alone.” Jackson glares at the lower part of his screen. “Why are you still messing with it?”

“What else am I supposed to do?” Danny waves a hand vaguely. “It keeps happening.”

“ _Ignore it._ ” Jackson speaks through clenched teeth with the emphasis of someone who has had this exact argument at least twice before. “It’s Beacon Hills. When weird shit happens in Beacon Hills, don’t poke at it. Especially when it involves creepy shit that shows up in the woods.”

“Relax, man. I just want to see if it does the same thing here, okay?” Danny reaches down out of the camera frame to, Stiles assumes, something on his desk. It’s hard to tell for sure because the screen wavers a little as he does.

_(”Piece of…” Stiles pauses the video and reaches back to check the connection of his AC adapter. He needs this crappy computer to at least survive until he finishes college._

 

 

_“That’s on the video,” Jackson says from the live Skype screen in the corner. “Just watch.”)_

“Is it doing it?” Danny is holding something up to the camera as he speaks, but the picture fizzles into static and Danny’s voice drags out into a drone. It clears after a few seconds to show Danny holding a piece of paper and frowning as he taps at his camera. “-ackson? Still with me?”

“Yeah, my monitor is fucking up majorly.” There’s an edge in Jackson’s voice. Stiles knows that edge from when Scott’s wolfy sense is tingling. “What the hell is on that?”

“See? This is why I haven’t been able to take photos of any of them. My cell phone camera does the same thing.” Danny leans in and holds the paper closer. The screen fills with white and scrawls of black that turn fuzzy as the picture fills with static again. The computer on Danny’s end shifts as he prods the camera. “Is it focusing?”

“No. Where did you find this one?”

“Pinned up in the locker room shower, believe it or not. Explaining the nail in the tile to Coach wasn’t fun. So that’s one at school, two in the woods...” The lines of static turn thick and start to buzz with white noise as they ripple up the screen. The black scribbles on the paper waver and sway and never catch the camera’s focus point. The hiss of the static begins to break up in short, crisp popping sounds, and all of it drowns out whatever Danny is saying.

“Danny!” Jackson’s eyes glint off the camera lens and flare blue on the camera. “I can’t hear you! Just put the fucking thing down and-”

“Calm down!” Danny sets the paper down abruptly and leans closer to the screen, like that might shut Jackson up. “It’s almost midnight and you're gonna wake my parents up.”

“Who the fuck is that?!” Stiles hears the cadence in Jackson’s voice suddenly turn careful, to enunciate around a mouthful of fangs. He’s staring straight at the screen, at Danny. Or at Danny’s room, at least. “Call the cops, and-”

Danny shoves back from the desk and turns in one abrupt motion. The whole room is still for a moment and the only sound is the paper fluttering to the floor. “…Everything is fine, man.” He turned back to the camera, frowning as he does. “Jax, are you sure you’re okay, man?”

Jackson just growls in his little square of the screen. “Get rid of those fucking papers, Danny. And stay out of the woods.”

* * *

No matter how many impatient noises or gestures Stiles makes, Derek seems immune to being troubled. Or concerned. Or even vaguely sympathetic to Danny’s plight. If Stiles had to pick a mental state, he’d go with ‘unimpressed.’

“Uh… here, maybe I need to play it again.” Stiles reaches for the finger track pad, only to have Derek slap his wrist away.

“I saw it the first time. So what?”

Stiles shakes out his stinging wrist and glares at Derek. Of course Derek saw it the first time. Fucking werewolves. He slaps Derek’s hand away in revenge and because Derek will let him (case in point- he does). His finger skims the trackpad and nudges the time lapse bar back several seconds on the video, to where Danny pulls the paper down. Stiles squints hard and pushes it forward one frame at a time until…

“So, what is it?” Stiles crosses his arm and looks at the frozen image of Danny looking down and out of the frame, the whole thing warped by a fat line of static cutting into the bottom third of the screen. Over Danny’s left shoulder was some sort of… well, in the fuzzy pause it just looked like a smudge against the dark of the closet, part of the distortion. Stiles has looked at the tape a lot, though. He’s gone one frame after another after another until the smudge clears a little. He’s seen it. He’s seen those lines smooth out into a figure, something vaguely human, but… tall. So goddamn tall. The shape doesn’t taper into shoulders until almost the top of the closet door. The pale, white flash of a neck vanishes behind the wall above the closet. All that dark that makes up the smudge… Stiles could swear he’s seen the lines of a suit sometimes. When Danny gets up, though, and his body crosses in front of the camera lens… it’s gone.

Derek shakes his head. “Nothing good. Even on video replay it makes things feel… off.”

Stiles waits, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He waits. Waits. Derek doesn’t elaborate, though. Stiles isn’t sure if he’s relieved about that or not.

“Jackson said that Danny had been getting weird feelings for a few weeks. And finding those scraps of paper.”

Derek shuts the video screen on the computer and shrugs. “Isn’t this something you should ask Scott about?”

“Uh, no.” Stiles gives Derek a Look. “I told you. Why would I tell Scott too?”

“Because Danny is a classmate of yours and Scott’s?” Derek is kind of phrasing it as a question, like he’s genuinely not sure where Stiles is going with this.

“Yeah, and he found some of those papers in the woods.” Stiles waits. No lightbulb goes off. No ‘ah ha!’ moment. “In your woods, Derek. On Hale property.”

“So?”

Stiles fixes him with a hard stare. “So there’s something messing around in your territory. I’m actually helping you here because we’re clearing your property.” He pats Derek’s arm and absolutely does not pause to fondle a bicep. “No need to thank me. Just get dressed and let’s go, huh?”

* * *

The woods will never not be creepy in the dark, it seems. Stiles has spent a lot of time in the woods since Peter decided to nibble on Scott, like the rude psycho he is, and yep, they’re still creepy. Maybe it has to do with someone leaving serial killer notes on the trees for Danny. That would probably even be creepy in the sunlight.

“Stop that.”

Stiles jumps a little because Derek should give him some warning if he’s going to go from ten minutes of dead silence to actually talking. Especially in the pitch dark when Stiles isn’t allowed to use his flashlight because, according to Derek, it’s too slow when Stiles needs time to trip over his own feet. “Stop what?”

“Getting yourself worked up.” Derek has his Beta-blues focused on the pitch dark in front of them and he’s breathing in that way that Stiles knows means he’s actually sniffing the air. Sniffing being socially unacceptable, Derek makes it sound like deep, slow breathing. Scott hasn’t learned that yet, and he sniffs utterly without shame. Truly he is one of the last free spirits. “I can smell it.”

“That seems invasive.”

“You don’t mind when I smell other things.” Derek grabs Stiles by the shoulders and turns him in a new direction. “This way.”

Well, that was dangerously close to talking about that thing they don’t talk about. Stiles even lets himself be shifted around like a rag doll to avoid a full-on discussion of that nature. And, to his credit, he hasn’t tripped over anything yet under Derek’s attentive shoving and dragging. “What do you smell?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing like… a freakish absence of smells? Or actual nothing?”

“It just smells like the forest.” Derek gives him a hard prod in the back to keep moving. Stiles does, for lack of anywhere else to go.

“So why are we going this way?”

“You said we were concerned about my territory. We’re checking the perimeter.”

Stiles sighs. “What the hell kind of monster has no smell?”

“Everything has a smell if it’s real.”

Stiles doesn’t miss the tone there. Because there’s definitely a tone there. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

Derek takes another deliberate breath and his voice changes direction in the dark as he scans the woods. “It means that if the thing is real, I’ll smell it.”

“Or maybe it’s just not here. Ever think of that?” Stiles snaps his flashlight on, shining the beam around with a vindictive swish, as if it might insult Derek if Stiles could see in the dark too. Not that he can see all that well. The woods swallow the powerful beam from his heavy flashlight within a few feet. Derek doesn’t say anything, and they pick their way through the woods in accusatory silence.

“You saw that thing on the tape.” Stiles is the one to make noise first, as always. Derek is a black belt in brooding silence.

“I saw a smudge tha-”

“It was not a smudge!” Stiles turns his flashlight on Derek so he can glare at him properly. The light washes out the light of his Beta eyes, giving him an eerie look in the dark as if his eyes were the same pallid white as the artificial light. Derek squints and glares at him.

“Quiet.” He’s still for a minute, eyes unfocused as he listens, as if Stiles might have woken something up. Hell, in this town he might have. Derek shakes his head after a few seconds, though. “I saw a smudge that was something.”

“It was a tall guy in a suit. Or something humanoid in a suit.” Humanoid. That was a good word for it. The proportions had been… not proportionate. The arms hung too low, and the head… well, it had been a distorted image. There was no need to assume that everything he had been able to discern was correct.

“He would have been over 7 feet to be taller than the closet door.”

Stiles just shrugs. “Like I said. Tall. In a suit.”

“There was something. I don’t know what it was.”

Stiles throws his hands up and pivots on his heel. “Fine. You keep sniffing for ‘something.’”

“Stiles.” Stiles hears Derek, but he doesn't turn back. Oh no. Derek is being a dick and he's due for at least a minor affronted meltdown.

It takes Stiles about 5 minutes of stomping through the woods alone to decide that this was probably a bad idea. It takes him another 4 to discount any thoughts of turning back or, God forbid, calling for Derek. Because Derek is just going to be sarcastic and unhelpful about figuring out this thing. It’s definitely a thing and Stiles is going to figure it out before it gets out of hand. It won’t get out of hand this time. It won’t hurt Danny.

Stiles lets out a slow breath and tries to pull himself together. Twigs snap under his sneakers and the dry leaves crunch into the dirt. It’s okay. _Crunch. Crunch._ It’s okay this time. _Step. Crunch._ Danny has only been gone a few days. It’s still early. _Step. Crunch. Snap._ It’s early and he’s seen what this thing is. It’s a fucking 7-foot-tall, creepy-as-fuck thing, but it’s not… this time he knows it’s not…

 _Crunch. Crunch. Step._ Stiles sweeps his flashlight around as the trees seem to be thinning. _Step. Step. Snap._ He stops and follows the beam of his flashlight with his eyes, trying to make out some kind of landmark. No easy feat in a dark forest where all the trees looked the same even in bright daylight. He’s standing still, looking in vain for something to stand out.

_Step. Crunch._

Stiles stops searching. He stands frozen, ears straining in the dark, straining to pick up anything over the sound of his own pounding heart.

Silence.

Stiles pulls his phone out of his pocket, squinting a little at the glare from the screen.

[Nice try. -SS] Stiles watches the message bar ooze slowly in the shitty reception of the woods before he turns the screen off and blinks the spots from his eyes as he listens. Nothing. No chime. No vibration. No little window of light that opens in the pitch night.

 **Bzzzt.** The sudden vibration of his own phone nearly makes him drop it.

[What? -DH]

Stiles looks around again and turns a full, slow circle as he scans the full reach of his flashlight. Trees. Branches. Shrubs. No Derek, though.

[Stop being a dick. -SS] Stiles doesn’t wait for the send to finish before he goes back to walking. Derek is obviously just out of the range of his flashlight and enjoying watching Stiles freak out. And he must have figured out how to use the silence function on his phone.

_Step. Crunch. Step. Snap._

**Bzzzt.**

[What’s wrong? -DH]

_Step. Crunch._

Stiles stops walking again.

_Snap._

Stiles whirls around with his flashlight. He even holds his phone out for good measure. The blue glow from the screen only casts a few inches into the dark. Nothing. Stiles isn’t sure if he’s irritated or terrified as he brings his phone back to his chest to tap at it. He wishes like hell he’d brought his bat instead of the long flashlight from his dad’s patrol car.

[I can hear yuo following em -SS]

He quickens his pace, steadfast on watching the sluggish progress of the bar on his phone.

_Step. Step. Snap._

It freezes a centimeter away from sending the message.

“Come on, you stupid thing…” Stiles shakes his phone, as if that’s in any way helpful.

**Bzt.**

A short vibration in his palm. **Send Failed.**

“Goddammit, get a fucking cell tower, Derek.” He doesn’t try to text again, just hitting the phone icon beside Derek's name.

Derek picks up halfway through the first ring. “Stiles. What’s wrong?”

“Listen.” Stiles starts walking again.

_Step. Crunch._

He doesn’t even have to stop walking this time before Derek is growling in his ear.

“Keep walking.”

“I don’t see anything around, Derek. Every time I check, nothing is there.”

_Step. Step. Snap. Crunch._

“Where are you?”

“Oh my god, now is when your nose is failing you?” Stiles feels his knees wobble, like they want to give out.

_Snap. Step._

“The woods are a big place. Where are you?”

“I’m coming up on a clearing, I think.”

“Where?” The growl in Derek’s voice is impatient, bordering on angry.

_Step. Crunch._

Stiles stops at the edge of the clearing and looks across it. Without the trees to block the sky, the moonlight pours across the grass. He doesn’t even need his flashlight to see.

_Crunch. Snap. Crunch._

“Stiles. Where are you?” Derek's voice in faint from the phone hanging down by Stiles’ thigh. Stiles isn’t listening, barely remembers he has his phone. His eyes are fixed on one of the sparse trees in the open space, on something there that’s so unnaturally white that the moonlight glints off it.

Paper. It’s a piece of paper, he realizes as he gets closer. Nailed into the tree, and covered in heavy, black strokes of… charcoal? Lead? Something. But the crude drawing is… a stick figure. A stick figure as tall as the entire sheet of paper.

“Derek, I-”

“Stiles! Are you deaf?!”

Stiles startles and jerks the phone away from his ear when the sudden volume actually makes it vibrate against the shell of his ear. “Ow. I might be now, Jesus. Derek, I found another piece of paper. You have to see this.”

Stiles flips his phone around to Face Time with Derek. The screen crackles to life, too loudly it seems, as he lifts the camera to the sheet of paper and smooths it down with one hand.

The call disconnects.

Stiles stares at the ‘Call Ended’ screen as it blinks out and the phone goes dark. The feeling of being in the dark and quiet is suddenly so much bigger. The woods are so… quiet without Derek’s voice.

How long have they been so quiet?

**Bzzzt. Bzzzt. Bzzzt.**

The phone lights up in Stiles’ hand with a photo of Derek, eyes throwing off a glare from the camera flash, and actually startles him into dropping it. He swears as he stoops to pick it back up.

“What happened?”

“What the hell is Face Time?”

Stiles lets out a slow breath, painful with relief. “Oh my god, Derek, did you just hang up on me?”

“Yes.”

“Just hit ‘yes.’ I’m gonna show you the paper.” Stiles sighs and brushes wet grass from the screen and waits until the phone switches to show Derek’s scowl. “There. See? I told you, your phone is a marvelous tool. It’s not a paperweight.”

“Stiles.”

“Alright, alright.” Stiles knows that growl. He’s getting good at picking out the different kinds. That’s the ‘sick of your shit’ growl and it rarely ends anywhere good. He flips his phone around obligingly and holds it out to the tree, the blue glow of the screen casting on the trunk. “See? Just like the one Danny found.”

“I can’t see it.”

Stiles frowns and turns his phone around just in time to see a large ripple of static make the screen shiver. The screen buzzes a little with white noise until the picture rights itself.

“Huh… Danny said he couldn’t take photos of them either. I guess it’s… maybe the papers that mess it up.” He’d assumed the hell-creature living in the closet was fucking with the camera, but maybe not. “Can horrible picture-based magic mess up phones?” Derek just raises his eyebrows at Stiles, like he has no idea why Stiles is asking him. “Right, never mind.” Stiles resolves to ask Danny about that, just as soon as they pull him out of hell, or wherever he is.

“Sorry, I guess these things mess up phones too. I’ll show it to you later.” He snatches the paper off the nail and his phone screen ripples into static again.

_Step. Crunch._

Stiles freezes. He thinks maybe Derek has fanged out, but his phone screen wobbles and distorts and it’s impossible to tell.

_Crunch. Crunch. Snap._

The screen shivers and settles again. Derek is looking over Stiles’ shoulder from the phone screen. Stiles confirms that yes, Derek is fanged out. One lip curls back from a sharp canine as his customary growl turns into an ugly snarl.

_Step. Step. Crunch. Snap._

Stiles turns slowly. He even turns on his flashlight even though the moonlight washes out the beam. No one is there. Nothing is there. The tree line is at least 15 feet back. There’s nowhere to hide, but… there’s also nothing there.

“Derek, nothing is here.” Stiles keeps the tremor out of his voice, probably only by virtue of trying to keep from making too much noice. The dry crinkle of the paper in his fingers sounds so goddamn loud in his ears.

_Crunch. Snap. Crunch._

Behind him. Stiles turns around. The tree is there, the bare nail jutting out from the trunk. Nothing else.

_Step. Step._

Behind him again.

Stiles is only vaguely aware of his phone slipping from his grasp and falling into the grass with a faint, slow sound of static. He brandishes his flashlight like a weapon, both hands around the long handle. It’s the heavy police-issue sort. It is a weapon if there’s enough force behind it. He thinks about yelling something out of an action movie, but his better sense prevails. Yelling into the dark woods in Beacon Hills is a bad idea even when there aren’t creepy, disembodied footsteps around.

_Crunch. Crunch. Snap._

Still behind him. Stiles tries to keep his breath shallow. He needs to hear over the pounding of his own heart. He needs room in his ears for more than his own breath.

_Crunch. Step._

Closer behind him. Unhurried. No change in pace.

_Step. Step. Crunch._

Louder.

_Snap. Crunch._

Closer. The air turns heavier, that feeling of two bodies sharing space.

_Step._

Stiles whips around. He swings the heavy flashlight in a wide arc. Strength. Effort. Momentum. Everything goes into the swing.

It cuts cleanly through the night air. Nothing.

_Step.Step.Step.Step.Snap.Crunch.StepStepStepstepstepstepsnapcrunchstep._

The new footsteps come up behind him so fast. Too fast. Stiles doesn’t even have time to brace himself before something heavy slams into his back. Hard, packed dirt hits his chest and the impact reverberates down his spine. The breath is knocked out of him, but there’s a weight on him. He couldn’t breathe even if his lungs weren’t knocked for a loop. The weight is pressing him down into the dirt and… and howling.

The sound is long and furious and it goes on and on. Stiles drags the first few hard breaths into his lungs before he's able to get an elbow under himself to look up and over his shoulder. Derek's blue eyes gleam in the moonlight as the hard noise finally subsides. The forest is silent again. Even the crickets have shut up. So have the footsteps. No more feeling of something else being woods feel like they always feel- dark and foreboding, but in a normal sort of way. A natural way, like someone could get lost forever there, like it's unimaginably big. No more feelings of monsters.

Then Derek hauls him unceremoniously to his feet and gives him a hard shove. “This way.”

It's an awkward walk back, with Derek practically walking on his heels the whole way. He keeps a fist wound up in the back of Stiles’ shirt, right below his collar, until they get back to the Jeep. Derek all but throws him at the driver's side door and stands there, glaring, until Stiles gets in and shuts the door. Stiles doesn’t put the car in gear until his bat is across his lap.

It's not until they're backing away from the woods and the tree line that the crickets begin chirping again.

* * *

It's that kind of silence in the car. That kind where someone has to lose because Derek is radiating that ’don't say a word’ aura while Stiles is vibrating on that ’we need to talk about this’ frequency.

Stiles makes it almost a full mile from the woods. Almost.

“So.” It's a perfectly vague invitation. Blank canvas.

“Stiles.”

Okay, not the best start, but talking is happening, so Stiles plows ahead. “It was something, right? You heard it too.” Derek is stubbornly silent, like he thinks that might save him from this. Stiles just shoves at his shoulder. “Derek! You fucking heard it, right?”

Derek just gives him a sidelong glare before he looks forward again. “Of course I heard it. I'm not deaf.”

Stiles lets his breath out slowly. “I was starting to think…” He shakes his head. “Whatever, never mind.”

“You're not crazy.” Derek doesn't turn his head to look at Stiles. “Stop worrying.”

Stiles thinks about denying it. But he just nods instead. “Right. Thanks.” Derek makes a noncommittal sort of ’hm’ sound, like maybe that's that. It makes Stiles almost consider letting it go at that. But only almost. “So what did you see?”

Derek sighs. “I didn't see anything, Stiles.”

“Yes you did. You saw something behind me, didn't you?” Stiles glances between Derek and the road. “When my phone was messing up? You were staring, man.”

Derek gives Stiles a look, like he's trying to decide if Stiles is being serious or not. “Of course I was staring. There were footsteps. And nothing was there.”

Stiles makes a frustrated sound and tightens his grip on the steering wheel until it creaks under his fingers. There had to be some kind of answers here. That couldn't have been for nothing. “You didn't see anything in the entire woods the whole night?”

“I didn't see a tall man in a suit. That would have stood out.”

Stiles groans and hits the steering wheel sharply. “Oh my god, you don't have to say it like that!”

“Yes, I did.”

“You're unbelievable. A werewolf who heard footsteps coming from nothing and you're going to draw the line at a guy in a suit?”

“The footsteps were coming from something. I just couldn't see it.” Derek shrugs. “I draw the line at a tall guy in a suit who goes around the woods nailing crappy drawings to trees.”

“Good to know where your limits lie.” Stiles keeps his eyes on the road as the trees fly by on either side of them. “Werewolves, check.” He holds up a finger. “Murderous lizards, check.” Ticks off a second finger. “Alpha packs, fox spirits…”

“Stiles.”

“But a guy in a suit who owns a hammer is a step too far past reality.”

“It was a smudge on a tape.”

“It was a pretty fucking creepy smudge!” Stiles cruises into the Iron Works, turning off the main road and heading for Derek's loft.

Derek snorts and shakes his head. “A creepy smudge that you're turning into a monster with a reason to kidnap Danny.”

“First off, everyone wants a piece of Danny. He's in everyone's top 5 list of people to kidnap.” Stiles pulls the Jeep into a parking space and shoves it into park so he can properly glare at Derek. “Second, it doesn't have to be after Danny. Ethan? Jackson? Either of those guys maybe have a few enemies?”

Derek just looks at him. He hasn't even taken his seatbelt off yet. “You still haven't told me why you want my help on this.”

“Oh my god.” Stiles sits back in his chair and groans. “Why won't you let that go?”

Derek only moves to get out of the Jeep when Stiles does, slamming the door shut and following him across the dark parking lot. “Because you don't give a shit about my territory.” Harsh, but probably a fair assessment, Stiles concedes, considering how he and Scott spent a good year disregarding Derek's boundaries. “So why aren't you asking Scott for help? He might give a shit that Danny is missing.”

“Because Danny is your pack, duh.” Stiles rolls his eyes, like this is the most obvious thing in the world.

Derek stops dead, gravel scraping into the pavement under his shoes. He honestly looks stunned and Stiles really considers pulling out his phone and getting a picture. He decides that he prefers keeping his guts inside his body, though, and resists the urge. “What the hell are you talking about, Stiles?”

“Well, Jackson is your pack, right?” Stiles doesn't wait for an answer because he doesn't want to know what Derek thinks his pack status is without his red eyes. “Obviously he is, because he sure as hell isn’t Scott's pack. If he's not yours, then he's an Omega, and he's not acting like an Omega. Ergo, he's your pack.” Derek just looks at Stiles like he grew another head.

“So!” Stiles plows right ahead, gesturing wildly with his bat (which he may go ahead and keep with him forever). “Danny is Jackson's best friend. They're a packaged deal. If Jackson is pack, Danny is proxy pack.”

“You're ridiculous. And you're still lying.”

“Oh my god, take responsibility for your pack, Derek!” Stiles throws his hands up and storms into the building.

“Go tell Scott about your theories about a tall man in the woods.”

Stiles glares at Derek for that one. Well, more for the tone involved. “Low blow, Derek. Uncool.”

They bicker all the way up the elevator ride, and it's a long elevator ride. By the time Stiles is slamming the rolling door shut behind them, there's already a familiar feeling of jittery adrenaline in his limbs. It makes his temper too quick and his attitude as twitchy as Derek's.

Derek feels it too. Stiles knows, because he turns into the same guy Stiles met in the woods while looking for Scott's inhaler. It's like he loses the months of learning to not be a creepy stalker from a bad 80s romance, and all the mellowing out that he did when he was training his Betas. Derek, in true Classic Derek form, doesn't even give Stiles a chance to let go of the door before he's grabbing him, turning him so they're face to face, and slamming him back against the door. The hollow sound of metal reverberating in its frame rattles all the way up Stile’s spine and the bat clatters on the cement floor.

The days of Derek following that up with a threat stay in the past, though, and Derek’s weight all but crushes into him. His mouth is on Stiles’ neck, mouthing at him like he hasn’t decided yet whether he wants to kiss him or bite him. It doesn't matter. It will be both by the end. Stiles scrabbles for his hair and pulls at it, crushing their mouths together. It’s more respectable somehow, he’s decided, if there’s kissing.

Derek’s fingers thread into his hair, they twist in the longer strands and yank. Stiles’ head follows the fingers back until the top of his head hits the door and puts his throat on display. Stiles is sure this is werewolf porn, with his skin taut, his entire throat bared, and the swell of his Adam’s apple jutting out. It sure makes Derek react like it’s porn, like it’s really good porn. Stiles hisses as the first wet kiss turns into a sharp bite. Derek is still sucking a bruise into his skin when Stiles feels the demanding tug on his belt that propels him towards the couch.

* * *

It’s sort of a thing. Well, it’s a thing that happens when the tension and the adrenaline rise and then crash, mostly. Now that the tension is gone, and it will start all over until the cork pops again. So Stiles isn't sure if _they’re_ a thing, but _this_ is definitely a Thing. They have a Thing even if _they’re_ not a thing.

It’s complicated.

Derek is in the shower and Stiles knows he’s giving himself some sort of a stern talking-to because he always comes out of his post-sex showers looking particularly chastised. And then they won’t talk about it. They won’t purposefully not talk about it; it won’t be the elephant in the room. It’s an elephant on the plains of the Serengeti, where elephants belong. It’s not that anyone is ignoring it, it’s just not something interesting enough to talk about.

It doesn’t bother Stiles as much as he thought it would, to be in this kind of a not-a-thing. He’s actually pretty cool with it. His head is a messy, scary place these days, and if he can have something easy, he’s more than willing to take it. Now if he could just get Derek to give himself a break, he’d be set.

Stiles taps his pen against his his temple while he lays sprawled on the cushions, the Beastiary propped open on the arm of the couch. He might as well be useful while he waits for his turn in the shower. Showering is a strictly solo activity in the oft because there was this one time when it wasn't and that ended badly. Shower sex, by nature of its slippery and wet environment, required a level of coordination that Stiles really, really doesn’t have. So in the interest of never having to sit through Sunday night dinner with his dad on a bruised tailbone again, yeah- no shower sex.

His first pass though the book yielded a big, fat nothing. None of the humanoid creatures were so bizarrely proportioned. And, of course, nothing in the Beastiary was walking around in a tailored 3-piece.

The second pass through, he tries to focus on shifters. The third pass through, Stiles hauls himself off the couch and retrieves the drawing. It rustles in the otherwise quiet room as he worries at the crumpled edge with the pad of his thumb. The dull rush of the shower sounds further away, like someone is showering on another floor. It makes Stiles sit up, ignoring the sting of fresh scratches in his back. The light under the bathroom door is on. It seems like it might be going a step too far to get up and check for steam under the door.

Of course Derek is still in the bathroom. Stiles sinks back down on the couch. Where the hell else would Derek be? There aren’t a ton of walls in the loft and Stiles would have noticed a wet werewolf creeping around.

He turns his attention back to the picture. Did the thing draw it? Did someone else? It was well below Danny’s skill level, and Danny never put out a sub-par product, so he doubts the tall man-shaped thing has stashed him somewhere with a box of Crayolas. Stiles is about to make a fourth pass through the book to look for creatures associated with drawings or pictures when the lamp on the side table flickers.

Stiles immediately sits up again and listens for the shower. Still going, water still hammering steadily against tiles. He thinks about calling out to Derek and asking him if he’s still there. He’s just… not sure he wants to hear the answer, if he gets one at all…

Stiles shakes his head rapidly and tries to clear it. Jeeze, that went from Chill to Paranoid pretty damn quick. Well, at least he’s aware that he’s paranoid and can do something about it.

Stiles watches as Skype dials out to Scott, fingers rolling the edge of the paper nervously. The drone of the shower in his ears sounds like it’s getting further away, turning into distant white noise. He looks at the door again and hears the distinct snap of the light switch and it goes dark under the door. Derek doesn’t make any noise inside, but the water keeps going, distant but constant. Even the computer seems to be acting weird. The spritely Skype tone sounds like it’s slowing down. Or maybe stretching out.

_Beeeeeeeeep… Booooooop…._

“Hey man, what’s- Jesus!”

Scott’s yelp of protest breaks the spell. The lamp feels like it’s burning at a proper 60 watts again and the shower… that’s definitely coming from the bathroom. The light in the bathroom is one and he can even hear the tiles squeak under Derek’s wet feet. Everything is fine.

“Dude!” Scott’s pitiful moan gets Stiles’ attention again, and he sees Scott is cringing onscreen like he’s watching a horror movie (because Scott is, in fact, a werewolf afraid of horror movies. It’s hilarious and ironic and Stiles will never stop reminding him of that).

“What?” Stiles frowns and looks behind him, even though he’s sure that now everything is fine. He’s spent several long seconds being relieved that everything is fine, and surely that can’t have changed already.

“Shirt!” It's more of a whine than anything and makes Stiles look down at his chest. Shit, he’s still on the couch in just his boxers, fresh scratches and bite marks all laid bare. No wonder Scott is acting so scarred.

“Sorry man. It’s been a weird night. Hang on.” Stiles gets up to fetch his clothes, which ended up scattered around the room. Scott whines again when he stands up in view of the camera. Right. Bruises on his thighs. Or maybe his waist. He ends up with a lot of bruises and it’s hard to guess which ones are offending Scott.

“Drama queen. There.” Stiles sighs and moves behind the computer. “You’re safe.”

“Why are you calling me right now?” The tone in Scott’s voice is implicit, and says ‘Why is there no cuddling going on? Do you want me to give Derek some tips?’ To his credit, he doesn’t outright say any of that, even if he clearly wants to. Stiles will always appreciate that Scott has his back, but the day that he and Derek start cuddling is the day it’ll probably get weird. It will officially be something they have to talk about.

“I’m researching something weird, and I need your help.” While Stiles mainly wants the noise of another person, and maybe an eyewitness in case things go south, Scott can actually be pretty helpful. He’s not sure if that’s a Scott thing or just the virtue of a fresh set of eyes that are usually Scott’s because he doesn’t screen his phone calls. Even bad questions can lead to progress. That’s Stiles’ life mantra these days.

“What’s up?”

“Did you know that Danny is missing?”

Scott’s frown is answer enough. “I mean, I know he wasn’t at school, but-”

“Yeah, I thought the same thing. But Jackson hasn’t been able to get ahold of him. He was worried enough to contact me and we all know how he feels about that.”

Scott gets the short version, which is also the version where Stiles doesn’t show him the video or the paper. He doesn’t need the computer freaking out while Derek is in the shower and Scott is his only company. He also doesn’t need that thing showing up when he can’t rub it in Derek’s face that see?! There actually is something tall and creepy running around! Nope, if that thing shows up again, he wants credit or being right. Probably before it kills them, but whatever.

“You’re sure it’s not you, right?”

Stiles winces. Oh, bless Scott for blurting out exactly what Stiles doesn’t want to hear, doesn’t want to consider, and from which he doesn’t want to defend himself.

“I’m sure, Scotty.” Stiles sits back on the couch with his neutral smile firmly in place. “It’s not me. It’s some super tall thing.”

“Maybe it’s a manifestation, like the oni?” Scott McCall, master of having no concept of when to fucking drop it.

“The Nogitsune is gone, man.” Keep it calm. Mellow. Zen. Don’t start a fight.

“Maybe something else got in the door?”

Stiles sighs. Talking to Scott is officially the worst idea ever. “If that thing is attached to me, it has to work completely independently.” Not that it’s out of the question, he supposes. “I was at Derek’s the night of the tape from Danny’s room.”

“Oh. Got it.” Well, that shut him up at least. Stiles doesn’t know if it’s out of respect for Derek’s werewolf senses or just a keen desire to not hear about their sex life, but it amounts to the same.

“So. Derek didn’t see anything in the woods, but it was definitely chasing you?” That’s probably Scott making a peace offering in his clumsy Scott way. Stiles is more than happy to take it.

“Yeah, even Derek heard it.”

“And he was able to scare it off? How do you scare off something you can’t see?” Scott makes a pawing motion at the screen that Stiles thinks is supposed to indicate claws. “Are fangs involved?”

“He howled and it backed off.” Stiles snaps his fingers as he figures out how Scott can be useful without more risk to his own bruised psyche. “Can you tell what he was saying?”

Scott blinks at him. “Saying?”

“Yeah. Like, wolves howl for different reasons, right? Aren’t werewolves the same?”

“I guess?” Scott clearly has no idea, but Stiles presses on anyway. It’s a great idea, and Scott is better with his ears than his brain a lot of the time.

“Just listen and tell me if this sounds like anything.” Stiles clears his throat and tilts his head back and does his best imitation of the sound Derek made. Lacking impressive werewolf vocal chords, it sounds more… pitchy. And kind of awful, but all all the same inflections are there. Maybe.

Scott just looks at him, confused and kind of mortified.

“Nothing?”

Stiles huffs when Scott shakes his head and picks up his half-empty bottle of Mountain Dew for a swig. It’s half flat because Derek doesn't keep soda stocked. Because Derek is a heathen. So the bottle is leftover from Chinese take-out last weekend.

“Okay, let me try again.” He takes a long drink to get his throat wet and drops his head back, trying again to copy the long, angry sound that Derek made in the forest. It’s still pretty awful. Stiles isn’t capable of making actual angry noises like that.

“Dude, stop!” At least this time Scott just looks embarrassed on his behalf. Stiles hopes that maybe now he’s graduated to where he’s just butchering his wolf pronunciation or something.

“Anything?” Stiles clears his sore throat and drains the syrupy dregs from the bottle.

Scott makes a vague gesture with his hand, like he got something out of it but he’s not comfortable with the implications. He looks like Stiles felt when they were talking about the Nogitsune. “I mean… it’s like… it’s like you didn’t want to share your soda.”

Stiles looks at the bottle, then at Scott. “What?”

“I dunno, that’s the best I can do.” Scott points behind him. “Just ask Derek.” Stiles turns in time to see Derek emerge from the bathroom, wrapped in nothing but a towel and a cloud of steam. And looking like he's thinking of murdering Stiles. Not in an unusual way. Just his normal ‘I'm going to kill you’ way, which he overused way too much in their first few months of knowing each other, so it doesn't really phase Stiles anymore.

Stiles watches Derek storm up behind him with heavy, wet footfalls and has the foresight to utter a quick ‘Uh, bye Scott’ before Derek slaps the lid of the laptop shut.

“So.”

Derek just glares at him. Stiles tries again in his totally judgement-free tone. “You uh… told the tall thing not to touch your Mountain Dew. Actually, you told the whole forest. Are we gonna talk about that?”

More glaring. Stiles just grins at Derek.

“Yes? Words, Derek.”

Glaring intensified. “No.”

He got a word, and Stiles decides to reward that. “Well.” He shakes the empty bottle at Derek. “The Mountain Dew was safe, thanks to you.”

“Stiles.” Stiles recognizes the ‘time to shut up’ warning there, and he’s trying. He really is. But the grin isn’t going away.

“I can’t believe you laid a claim on me to the whole forest!” Every delighted laugh hurts his ribs a little (since they’re already sore from Derek slamming his werewolf weight into them and then using them as a favored spot to use as a handhold while mauling Stiles in bed), but he can’t help it. He can’t even help it when it starts making Derek growl.

Stiles is still laughing when Derek tackles him and they sprawl backwards onto the couch, knocking the Beastiary askew and sending Stiles’ notes scattering. The towel stays in place as they tumble onto the cushions, a feat both impressive and frustrating. Derek’s mouth is already back on his neck, biting at flesh that’s still tender and newly bruised. Stiles hears his voice drop to octaves he didn’t know he could reach, the sound coming from low in his throat. If Derek’s growl is any indication, he likes that sound. It certainly gets more of his teeth in on the action.

There’s a hard bulge pressing against Stiles’ thigh because werewolf stamina is a wonderful thing. Stiles is reaching for the waistband of the towel when Derek’s phone begins to ring in the bathroom.

“If you get up to answer that, I will end you.” Stiles whips the towel off and runs his eyes down Derek’s damp body. Clean Derek is a lovely thing, and even nicer when Stiles is about to make him unspeakably dirty again. _Ring._

“It’ll go to voicemail.” Derek pushes fingers into his hair and bites his throat just above the collar of his t-shirt. “Why did you put this back on?”

 _Ring._ “Scott doesn’t like talking to be when I’m half dressed and covered in hickies.” The words get lost in Stiles’ shirt as Derek pulls it off him and flings it aside. _Ring._

“Still a stupid idea.” Derek’s mouth moves to his clavicle and he scrapes his teeth again the bones and the sensitive skin. _Ring._

“Oh my god, I’ll never put on a shirt again then,” The words are half lost in a groan as Stiles presses his shoulders back into the couch and pushes his chest up. _Ring._

“Good.” _Ring._ Derek frowns and sits up, looking at the bathroom. “Why isn’t it going to voicemail?” _Ring._ He looks at Stiles, which Stiles figures he kind of deserves. He gives Derek a hard enough time bout his phone that of course he would assume that Stiles knows how to explain any and all mysteries. _Ring._

Stiles can only shrug, though. “Yeah, if you’ve got it set up.”

 _Ring._ “Which I do.”

“Maybe you did it wrong.” _Ring._

Derek glares at him and pushes himself up and off the couch. “Fine. I’ll bring it to you and you can fix it since I couldn’t have possibly done it right.” _Ring._

Stiles groans, but still admires Derek’s very shapely ass as he stalks into the bathroom. It would be disrespectful not to.

_Ring._

_Ring._

“Stiles, where’s your phone?”

Stiles frowns and looks around for it. _Ring._ He even checks the pockets of his jeans, but…

“Fuck!” _Ring._ “I dropped it when we were in the woods.” He swears fitfully under his breath. His dad is going to kill him. Literally kill him, just… oh shit.

“Oh shit. Is my dad calling you?” Stiles’ mind kicks into overdrive, trying to figure out how to explain why he’s at Derek’s loft at this hour, and without his phone. ‘I was out hunting monsters’ is an explanation both true and acceptable in his household, but that doesn't cover the part about Derek's loft. _Ring._

Derek interrupts his panic when he comes out of the bathroom wearing sweatpants, to Stiles’ eternal disappointment. He holds his phone out to Stiles.

_Ring._

**Stiles is Calling.** The phone screen is lit up with a picture of a squirrel on it. It used to be a selfie Stiles took on Derek’s phone, using his best duck face. Derek learned to program profile photos strictly to be such an asshole.

_Ring._

The lamp beside the couch flickers and the phone screen trembles slightly with static.

 _Ring._ **Stiles is Calling.**

Derek motions him towards the door as the lights flicker again, turning dim and brown and casting sluggish shadows around the room. Stiles can feel the heat of Derek at his back as they move. It feels like the room stretches out longer, like the door is always too far away. Longer.

 _Ring._ **Stiles is Calling.**

Stiles reaches for the door and the lights shudder out. Derek snarls behind him and the phone casts weak blue light for a measly few feet.

 _Ring._ **Stiles is Calling.**

The lights come back on and Stiles has to steady himself from wanting to recoil. A crumpled paper is nailed to the door, a nail driven in deep without a single sound and in the instant the lights were out. Heavy black lines are scrawled on the paper. A frowny face. Two heavy vertical lines for eyes and a frown that crosses the paper and gets cut off on both sides. Derek grabs his shoulder and pulls him back from the door and the paper.

 _Ring._ **Stiles is Calling.**

“Oh, he’s got jokes now?” Stiles growls as his fingers close around his bat. He hefts it up from the floor, choking up on the grip. Behind him, he feels Derek turn to press his back against Stiles’. Glancing over his shoulder, Stiles just catches the flash of Beta-blue.

 _Ring._ **Stiles is Calling.**

“Ready?” Derek’s voice is a low growl behind him.

Stiles tightens his grip. The tape on the at creaks under his grip. “Ready.”

 _Ring._ **Stiles is Calling.**

Derek picks up the phone.


End file.
